Loose Ends
by Kovitlac
Summary: This is a small collection of what I like to call dribble-drabbles, or loose ends. Nothing long – nothing terribly in-depth. Stories range from a few paragraphs in length to a few pages. But hopefully there are a few short pieces you'll find interesting.
1. Loose Ends

**Loose Ends**

This is a small collection of what I like to call dribble-drabbles, or loose ends. Nothing long – nothing terribly in-depth. Stories range from a few paragraphs in length to a few pages. But hopefully there are a few short pieces you'll find interesting.

**Table of Contents**

**Making Amends** (posted 02/19/12)

- Ezio's mission at the Sultan's Palace was a success. But what of a different point of view? Something of a silly piece concerning Ezio and one of his 'victims'.

**Stained Glass** (posted 03/18/12)

- A good friend takes a deep breath and leaves our world. SPOILERS FOR AC REVELATIONS.

**Tomorrow** (posted 03/27/12)

-Desmond makes a promise that he won't be able to keep.

**Further additions pending.**


	2. Making Amends

**Kostantiniyye**

**1511**

"Can you describe the offender in question?"

"I…" The nervous man scratched the back of his head, looking hopeless. "It was the Assassin. You know what he looks like."

The soldier let out an annoyed huff. "Details, _ispanağ_. What of his face? What did it look like?" The puzzled man twisted his face into a frown.

"He was…older then I imagined."

The soldier sighed in defeat. "I can see that I'm not going to get anywhere with you." He huffed impatiently. The nervous man scowled, rather offended.

"Well I do apologize, _Signore!_ But it all happened rather fast!" He took a deep breath, reciting his story.

"We had gathered to prepare ourselves to perform for our future Sultan and Prince Suleiman. We had been practicing for weeks. I had been working so hard, in fact, that my wife even said that I am never – "

"Emilio, was it? Enough prattling." The soldier grumbled boredly. "I've heard it all before."

"_Si_. Well… We were gathered just inside the palace walls when…he…showed up."

"The Assassin."

Emilio nodded wordlessly. "His eyes were like those of a madman, _Signore_. Like nothing I had ever seen before. Without any warning he came at me like a wild animal, and he...he struck me! I feared for my very life!"

"Others who have come across the Assassin have said the same thing." The Bysantine soldier confirmed, scrawling over a small sheet of parchment. "He is a vile, dangerous thug. I advise you to keep close watch over your family, and report any suspicious behavior to the guard."

The thin, mousey-haired musician stood, clasping his hands in front of him and nodding eagerly. "_Si, si!_ Of course, Sir. And, eh – one more thing."

The soldier gave a tired sigh and motioned for him to continue. The man smiled ruefully.

"Apart from being a crazed killer, he also doesn't appear to be a fan of my music. He, um, broke my lute, you see."

"I wonder why…"

"His wickedness knows no bounds." The minstrel stated mournfully. "Anyway, if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like to ask for a replacement. Performing is my livelihood."

"_Gerçekten_..." The soldier muttered dryly, scribbling briefly before setting his quill aside. "If that is all, you are free to return home. And here." He dropped a small leather pouch into the small man's eagerly-awaiting hands. "For your trouble." He added gruffly.

Emilio dropped the issue of someone paying for his lute. "_Grazie, Signore!_ I will do what I can to warn others of this monstrous man."

"_Iyi_. See that you do."

The Industrial district wasn't the most ideally safe area to raise a family in. But musicians were not ones to make very much money, and for now a cramped little apartment was all that Emilio could afford for his wife and sons. At least the money he was given by the Byzantine captain would pay for their food for the coming week.

Emilio clutched the tiny pouch tightly to his breast. Having any money in this district made you an easy target for thieves and bandits. The small man kept to himself, moving quickly through the narrow streets. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side today. He heard a loud scuffling sound behind him, and without risking a glance back he broke into a frightened run. Almost instantly he felt himself being tackled, landing hard on his knees and elbows.

"Get it! Grab the money!" Emilio felt his purse strings being cut and he scrambled for purchase against the slick cobblestone. He tried to yell his protest, but his fear got the better of him, and no sound came out. A knee buried itself sharply into his back, and he grunted in pain.

His family. His dear Andreina. And his sons, Davide and Eusebio. How would they eat, now? Taking money out of their savings for food would leave precious little to pay their landlord with. If they were evicted again, they'd have nowhere to go. And still very little to eat.

Emilio's worries consumed him. All at once he felt the pressure against his back give way, the motion followed by a throaty scream, and the sound of a very frightened thief running for his life. Then silence. The musician stumbled to his feet, turning to face his savior. The two vaguely amused eyes of the Assassin greeted him, and he involuntarily took a step back. The much older man bent down and picked up the torn pouch from the stone street, eyeing it with interest.

"This is all they pay you for turning me in, _amico?_ Not a heavy price on my head." He noted, with what seemed like disappointment.

Emilio gave a nervous chuckle. "I am sure it's not personal, friend. The Byzantines are a stingy lot."

"No need to tell me." The older man replied. He held out the pouch, and the younger man eagerly took it back, savoring the feel of the heavy coins. He raised his eyes, beaming with a mixture of joy and relief.

"You have no idea what this means to me, _Signore_. Now I can afford to feed my family this week."

"It was the very least I could do." The aging Assassin held up a hand. "What with snapping your instrument in two…"

The last thing Emilio wanted was for the Assassin to feel as if he owed him. He shook his head, making a dismissive gesture with his hands. "By all means, Assassin…"

"…and knocking you out cold and stealing your attire…"

"Really!" Emilio chuckled anxiously. "You do good work, _Assassino_. Constantinopoli needs you. Do not worry about me or my family."

The Assassin fixed him with a long look. Emilo took the opportunity to stare right back. The Assassin's eyes were weary – Emilio could only guess at how long he had done this. He'd heard vague stories of his exploits in Italia, Emilio's own homeland, and knew how much better he had made it there. Emilio could only hope that he would do the same for his new home.

"You should go." The Assassin said, at last, lowering his voice. "The Byzantines should not see you talking to me."

"_Si, Signore_. You're right." Emilio hastened a bow. "Thank you, again! My whole family thanks you!" He caught a brief smile on the Assassin's face before he turned and hurried off, still clutching the tiny pouch tightly in his hands. He felt no ill-will toward the Assassin, and he had never held any intention to betray him. He understood better than anyone how lucky he had been that the Assassin had seen that.

The city of Constantinopoli owed him a lot – more then she could ever repay. Emilio was thankful to play some small role in all of this. A small role was more than enough for him; he had a family to watch out for, after all.

The Italian minstrel set about getting home as quickly as he could, eager to get himself off the streets and safe from any future thugs. Upon arriving back at his apartment, he found himself happily greeted by his wife, who smiled happily as her sons ran to greet their papa, shrieking with joy. She drew close and managed a quick kiss. Emilio grinned and hugged his boys, thrilled to be home at last.

"I see you have missed me." He noted, ruffling little Davide's hair. The boy hurriedly tried to straighten it.

"You got a present, papa! A man brought it just a few minutes ago!"

"_Prego?_" He blinked, vaguely puzzled. "A gift? For me?"

"_Si – si!_" The two boys ran off to fetch it. Emilio looked to his Andreina in befuddlement, who only smiled demurely.

"You will see."

"Papa!" The boys hurried back, clutching a familiar wooden object between them. A slow smile grew over Emilio's face. That man… _Dio lo benedica_.

"I take it an older man left this for me."

His wife nodded, watching him take the instrument gingerly in his hands. "_Si_. But…how would a stranger know that you needed a new lute?"

Emilio smiled down at the object in his hands. Now he could return to earning his keep.

"…just a friend making amends, dear Andreina."

_ispanağ – idiot_

_signore – sir (IT)_

_si – yes (IT)_

_gerçekten – indeed_

_grazie – thank you (IT)_

_iyi – good_

_amico – friend (IT)_

_assassino – assassin (IT) _

_prego – what_

_dio lo benedica – God bless him_


	3. Stained Glass

**Kostantiniyye**

**1512**

Sofia's screams echoed loudly in his ears, but the bruised and badly beaten Assassin could do nothing for her, now. The elbow and forearm of a heavily-armed Janissary pressed tightly against the back of Yusuf's neck, hindering his breathing. He winced, his right hand automatically feeling for a weapon, and finding nothing but a low-set window. The grip on his neck tightened, and for a few seconds, he saw stars crossing his vision. The initial blow against the wall of Sofia's near-ancient bookstore had almost been enough to knock him out cold. He'd clung to consciousness, only to be nearly brought to his knees by a Byzantine arm. But the pressure then faded somewhat, and Yusuf was able to turn his head, just enough to catch sight of a very pale, very frightened, Sofia Sartor in the window's reflection.

"_Bu, tamam_, Sofia." He made out, wincing in pain. His forehead throbbed. "Go with them. Do not fight." He'd already failed to protect her – the last thing he wanted was for them to bring her any harm before Ezio returned. _I am sorry, Mentor. Allah knows I tried._

"Wise words." Yusuf tried to crane his head around, but the Byzantine thug holding him tightened his grip on the nape of his neck. Even without catching sight of the speaker, however, he knew the voice. Ahmet. The men holding Sofia made to drag her out, but the future ruler of _Kostantiniyye_ held up his hand. Light passing through the tinted glass windows formed a surreal pattern against his brightly-colored robes.

"Not yet. Surely she should see what happens to those who oppose Templar rule." A sick smile formed over his Ottoman features. The red-haired woman kicked out at her attackers, but her arms were drawn tightly behind her back. She could go nowhere. Eventually she stopped, breathing hard, her eyes drifting over the man she had come to know well over the last two months. She swallowed, her mouth dry. So much had gone wrong in so little time. Only two months ago Ezio had to suddenly depart Constantinople, without telling her where he was going. Hours later, she'd been briefly introduced to Yusuf Tazim, a supposed 'friend of the family'. He had odd tastes, but told her that he owed Ezio a debt, and promised to look after her.

Now the bookseller shivered, despite the warmth of the building.

"Please don't hurt him, Ahmet. Whoever you really are…"

"My lady." He smiled. "How else will your brash paramour ever learn who not to cross?" He noted her horrified expression with satisfaction, and waved his hand to his men.

"My Grand Vizier was murdered three days ago by the Assassins. I want this done right, and done promptly. Then take the woman to Galata Tower and wait for further orders." He paused, ripping a page out of a book and using the quill from Sofia's desk to write. He quickly finished, handling the note to one of the Janissaries.

"Be sure that Ezio gets the message." He glowered darkly at the Assassin before stalking out, tailed by several of his private guard. Yusuf braced his palms against the wall, trying to push back against the Janissary. But he was immediately shoved roughly back into the wall, hitting his cheekbone so hard against the window frame that it bruised. He didn't try again. He wouldn't risk any harm coming to Sofia.

"You Templars are all cowards." He groaned, fingers curling against the stone wall, warm from the direct sunlight streaming through the glass windows. He felt so tired.

"You will steal a woman, hoping to draw your target to you instead of taking the higher ground."

"Oh?" Yusuf winced as he received a sharp smack on the back of his head for his lack of manners. The elbow dug buried itself deeper into his neck.

"_Evet_." He whispered hoarsely, forcing a dry chuckle. "Truth be told, a cockroach has more integrity then – "

"_Silence!_" The Janissary snarled, grasping Yusuf's shoulders so tightly the Assassin visibly flinched. He jerked his chin to another soldier. "Bring it here."

Yusuf heard Sofia shriek, a split second before an icy pain, beyond that which he had ever felt before, was thrust into his back. He staggered, knees sagging. He felt the pressure let up on his neck, but the throbbing heaviness in his back caused his legs to collapse. He fell onto the bench to his left, leaning heavily against the wall. His face tilted upward, and his eyes drifted over the window. Formerly made up of nothing but clear, stunning glass work, the Assassin's blood stained it a dark, muddy reddish-brown. Faded lights danced in his eyes, and the world around him began to ebb out of focus.

Sofia's cries seemed so very far away. The Assassin felt something warm run down his back. His own body feeling very cold, the strange heat actually felt strangely soothing. He wanted to tell Sofia it was alright – that she had to go with them to keep herself safe. That Ezio would arrive soon for her. But he could force none of the words out. He could only stare at the Byzantine soldier who had stabbed him as he carefully wiped the blood from his hands.

"Now there is a message that the old Mentor can't ignore." He noted quietly. "You know, I cannot understand you Assassins. You fight for an unwinnable cause. Progress cannot be halted. Nor should it be. The Templars will rule the future, Assassin, and those like you will either be killed or simply thrown aside." He watched the dying Assassin a moment longer, than left him.

"Bring her. We are finished here."

Sofia's shrieks of protest quickly subsided. All Yusuf could hear was the steady rush of the wind outside and the scattered calls of a lone bird, until even those sounds faded away. He struggled to focus his vision, at the same time fighting to continue breathing. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, but enough was enough. The Assassin let himself settle limply against the wall. Indeed – if his death was to be a message for Ezio, let his Mentor receive it loud and clear.

The Assassins would not stand down. They would **never** stand down. Yusuf could only hope that to his Mentor, his followers and his Creed, his death would hold some measure of meaning.

…_hoşça kalın._


	4. Tomorrow

**My assignment was to write something concerning 'tomorrow', featuring any characters I wanted. Truth be told, I've _never_ written anything concerning Desmond before. I find him to be pretty boring, when I could be writing about the awesomeness that is Ezio or Yusuf. But I couldn't think of anything else, and I kinda hoped that some of you would grasp the significance of what 'tomorrow' is in this piece. Anyway, enjoy. **

**Monteriggioni**

**October 9****th****, 2012**

Desmond had an itch that the Assassin simply couldn't scratch.

He got only a few precious hours to rest each night, and his mind wandered for most of the time. Hours that he could have spent getting a good night's sleep, he instead spent twisting and turning, forming his sheets into tangled knots of sweat-soaked fabric.

Lucy. When he wasn't experiencing incredibly vivid hallucinations brought on by the Bleeding Effect, all he could see when he closed his eyes was her face.

Desmond chastened himself. This was no schoolboy fantasy. He wasn't ready to throw her onto his hypothetical horse and gallop off into the Italian sunset. But his care for her grew immensely, day after day, and had been doing so ever since she helped him escape from Abstergo.

She was a remarkable woman. Full of life and adventure, despite how he teased her. Her teasing him back was one of the few reasons he felt about her the way that he did. Made him consider the possibility of a life with her after saving the world was over. That and her wicked skill with a baton. The girl was a damned good fighter – Desmond found very little in her not to admire.

The Assassin sat on the roof of the Monteriggioni Villa, sneakers dangling thirty-odd feet above the old cobblestone plaza. So much of his history was here, and yet it still felt so foreign to him. And yet, he could feel himself in the company of his ancestors – not just Ezio, but Claudia, Mario, Giovanni, and Maria as well. All of them. He wondered briefly if Lucy also felt the same history that he did. Perhaps her own Assassin ancestors had been here, as well. It was an interesting theory to think about.

He drew one foot up, bracing it against the old shingles. Nevermind that the roof could technically collapse at any moment. It had been built well, but years of toil, bombardment and simple aging didn't ease his worries. Nevertheless, he remained where he was, feeling little urgency to rise.

"It's beautiful up here." Her melodic voice cut through his thoughts like a finely-crafted hidden blade through Templar flesh. Christ, he'd been in the Animus far too long.

"If you consider the site there hundreds of people died beautiful, then yeah."

She seated herself beside him, her eyes questioning. He fumbled with his bracer, tugging it off.

"It still doesn't feel right." He complained.

"You'll get used to it." She added helpfully.

Desmond shrugged, setting the equipment down beside his hip. His gaze lingered briefly on her hand. Lucy shifted.

"It'll be dawn soon." She noted after a lengthy silence. Desmond leaned back on his palms, inviting the cool night air and settle against his warm skin. Should he admit to her his pesky feelings?

"Yeah…" He gave her a friendly smile. Yeah, he'd tell her. Tomorrow.

Desmond reached over and took her hand, helping her to her feet. He stood beside her, brushing himself off.

"Well, the Coliseum isn't going to just tell us where the Apple is. Let's get going."


	5. Honey and Cinnamon

**Roma**

**January 2, 1503**

Claudia Auditore took her seat alone at the cramped dining room table. Not that the brothel house had any true dining space to boast of (what they did have was combined with the equally cramped kitchen), but what they did have was adequate enough to support them and, thankfully, private.

The Madame sighed and dropped her chin into her cupped hand. A soft scuffle sounded just outside the kitchen door, and her eyes drifted to the shadows which mingled just on the other side. Claudia knew her girls, and knew precisely which two were responsible for the object of her misery, even if it was unintended of them.

Claudia pressed her lips together and breathed in the heavenly aroma of cinnamon, honey and cake batter. Perhaps she owed poor Dafne and Fabia as much enthusiasm as she could muster. They'd gone through the effort of baking her such a truly delicious dessert, and here she could barely stomach even the sight of it, much less the smell. Not because either of them were poor cooks. On the contrary, if they ever chose to marry someday, they'd make two young men very lucky husbands. No, the problem lay with Claudia herself, and what the simple little mixture of eggs, flower, honey and cinnamon had come to represent to her over the last three years.

Monteriggioni, sacked. Burned to the ground in less than a single day. The grand Auditore Villa, torched. Her brother, injured. All of them forced to flee to Firenze, San Gimignano and Roma. And her dear uncle Mario, murdered. Slain by the despicable Borgia thug, Cesare. Claudia's heart began to hurt anew, recalling how excited she had been for her thirty-ninth birthday.

Even now, at forty-four years, Claudia felt the same guilty ache she did the very first anniversary of Mario's death. Another year later, and the pain still had not dulled. Of course, Claudia was no stranger to death and grief; not after the murder of her father and two of her brothers almost thirty years ago.

Had it really been that long…? That pain, while so raw and utterly unbearable during the first several years, had eventually begun to fade. After so long in Monteriggioni, she strained to remember her old way of life. Her bedroom. Her nice things (not that Monteriggioni didn't have nice things…but…). Her friends, and her teachers. The city the adored. The agony of losing so much all at once had just reached the point where it was no longer fresh in her mind. Where, most days, she was able to get through without her mind lingering on her father. Federico. Or Petruccio.

Then...the great destruction that was the Fall of Monteriggioni, in 1500. And a fresh new loss: her beloved uncle. And now her brother was on a vendetta against the Pope and his kin. Ezio could be killed, if he was not careful. And then there'd be yet one more soul to grieve.

There was a soft flurry of whispers from behind the closed door, followed by a sharp 'shh'. Claudia couldn't help but manage a minuscule smile. Two years ago, on the eve of her forty-second birthday, she'd made the mistake of telling them her favorite dish, not realizing at the time the horrible memories it would continue to invoke.

The smell of honey and spice continued to hang in the air, despite how quickly the dessert had cooled. The cinnamon, especially, clung stubbornly to the atmosphere. Claudia lowered both hands to the table, carefully picking up the delicate china plate and bringing it up to her eyes. This dish hadn't been only _her_ favorite. There was a reason its presence brought forth a deep-seated feeling of loss for her uncle, and not just because it marked the day he had died. But apparently she'd received her love of the dish through him all those years ago.

The Madame slowly stood up from her lonely seat at the table, carrying the dish with her. She hesitated before wrapping the dessert in a small length of cloth, and tucking it carefully into a small carrying bag she liked to wear when she went out during the day.

Perhaps she couldn't bring herself to stomach such a taste. But there were others in Roma who went days without a bite to eat. She'd see that the food reached someone who needed it more than she did. Not a crumb would go to waste.

Claudia Auditore, only a few short years from becoming an Assassin herself, squared her shoulders and pasted upon her face the most genuine smile she could manage before opening the door. Immediately the happy shrieks of her girls descended upon her, and Claudia felt her sad, lifeless heart being lifted and once more begin to throb. She laughed as she assured the eager faces around her that she had greatly enjoyed such a wonderful treat. Nay, she had tasted nothing better in all her years.

While they giggled and blushed, Claudia's mind drifted elsewhere. On the sweet, cinnamon-scented cake still stashed in her bag. And on the man who had once enjoyed them just about as much as she did.

_I miss you, uncle. _


End file.
